


Sexscapades

by ZetSway



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fall Fandom Free For All, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZetSway/pseuds/ZetSway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 Kink Drabble Challenge- AliasBlackClaw vs ZetSway. All pairings and many flavors of kinks.  Mature content.  WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gun Penetration

**Author's Note:**

> ZetSway and AliasBlackClaw Present
> 
> Sexscapades
> 
> 100 short drabbles for 100 kink prompts
> 
> This is rated M for a reason, and assorted drabbles may be AU or otherwise.
> 
> All pairings, all kinks.
> 
> A kink is simply something that draws sexual arousal from a person.
> 
> Alias Blackclaw is found at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1501944/Alias_Blackclaw
> 
> I do not own Resident Evil, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
> 
> Prompt 1- Gun Penetration

ZetSway ----------------------

She's speaking but I can't quite hear her. I can't take my eyes off her pale and lithe naked body, and the weapon in her hands. My very own Springfield bolt-action rifle. And it's loaded.

This is a dangerous position for me to be in. Strapped down on a strange bed in a strange country. With her. I'm trying to stay calm. But at any moment, she could end my life. Here, bound and gagged, with nothing but my pride. She flicks her tongue across the barrel of my gun, her smile widening as she watches me quiver.

I flinch when she makes contact. Cool, slippery metal between my thighs. She attempts to soothe me by pumping my flagging erection with her free hand. I shiver and shake, held fast by makeshift arm and leg restraints. My clothes are bundled up and stuck beneath my ass. I'm on display, powerless to stop her.

She goes slowly, inch by inch invading me with hard steel. She's nuts. Crazy. I fight to keep my breathing steady and tell myself to think positive. There may be a barrel of a gun in my ass right now, but Ada wouldn't kill me, right?

Four inches later and she's going deeper, polished wood banded with steel brackets sheathed within me as she pushes the forestock further up into places it doesn't belong.

It's awful. I want her to stop. The pain, stretching, burning of clenched muscle makes my whole body tense. She keeps telling me to relax, as if it's going to make it better. As if I'll start enjoying this suddenly. I want to close my eyes, to pretend I'm somewhere else, somewhere more pleasant, but I can't. Can't take my eyes off her hands. If she pulls that trigger…

She's fucking me with it now. Slowly. Slow strokes, receding and resurfacing feelings of fullness and pain. Until she twists the gun and the angle changes. I gasp and cringe as a spike of pleasure courses through me. My cock is hard and aching in seconds.

I feel sick.

She lowers her mouth over my cock and repeats the motion. Another thrust, another spike. Over and over again, faster and faster and I'm screaming behind the gag, limbs tensed and aching in the restraints. The world is a cruel place. But she just doesn't stop. She won't stop until she gets what she wants.

I won't give it to her, so she forces it from me, and I'm fighting back tears of pain and humiliation. She sucks every hard-earned drop of my seed down her throat as if it's the last time she'll ever drink. I sag in the restraints and she unties me. Collects her clothes and walks away.

She leaves me there, shameful and vulnerable. She leaves the gun between my open thighs.

 

AliasBlackClaw---------------------

He probably should've trusted his intuition when he saw her sitting on a hospital gurney squeezing a semi auto between her thighs. He told himself 'It's just a dream' as she stroked the metal length of the weapon, sighed against it and cast a cloud on the surface. It was cocked and loaded.

He felt even more numbed to reality when her tongue (he'd never seen the damn thing in his life, and suddenly it was there) licked up the sights. He tried to say her name, but his voice was gone and stuck in his throat. Damn his hallucinations and dreams.

Her tongue slid up the metal barrel, down it, wetting it.

He didn't fight it as her voice sunk its teeth into his ears -god why was she invading his head?- and pulled him closer. Leon felt his body move of its own accord, through the murk, but her hand drifted over the back of his pants, between his legs, and it felt far too real for a dream.

"Get on the gurney." She muttered, words echoing inside his head. He felt blind and muted, heart racing, but mind empty. He should've felt angry at her, betrayed, unhappy. Dreams with her were tormenting and erotic, and he should've felt angry, but no, it was her who was scowling, all too suddenly with the rifle squeezed harder between her thighs, smashing her short red dress to her stomach.

From his position he saw that flash of her thong, the one he always imagined she wore. Red lattice lace... She snapped at him, he didn't know what she said, but it was angry, harsh. She was pissed, but he wasn't sure why, and he didn't care because he was on his back and her hand was under his boxers and squeezing him stiff.

He wanted so badly to say her name, groan it, moan it against her syrupy succubus lips, but no sound escaped him. Her fingers worked over him, he felt the gunwear on them, the bones beneath the skin. She slid off the gurney, steps heavy. She told him to lie on his stomach, a violent demand but he did it. He could feel his skin prickle at the hand running down his back, memorizing the knots of his spine.

She traced his shoulder with the point of the damn rifle, and he really should have woken up, because this woman, angry woman, was pointing a gun at his naked back while he was lying on a gurney, hard, facefirst. Ada wouldn't hurt him, he knew she wouldn't hurt him, even when her hand wrenched the thick of his pants off, he knew…

She brought the rifle to her lips again, sucked on the tip, loud noises that would haunt him when he woke, for sure. Why was she angry, why couldn't he hold her, bury into her, love her? He would hiss her name, moan it if he could…

She said something, something malicious, and slid the rifle between his legs, brushing his thighs and trailing her saliva behind it.

'It's a dream… It's a dream even if you feel her lips on your hip, her tongue on your waist.'

He wanted so badly to wake up as the barrel stuck to his leg and she crept onto him after it. He thanked the dream for no pain as she pressed metal against the curve of his ass, pushed the long wet muzzle in just a bit. The invasion made him sick, want to throw her off, and the kisses to his back did nothing to sooth it.

"Just relax." She sighed, dug a hand under his belly and found his dick- hard, leaking, throbbing.

God she was cruel, but he couldn't move. He couldn't move a muscle.

And she pressed it further in, filled him, stretched him, with her unkind smirk against his skin. She was laughing, quietly as she rocked the long barrel into him, pried his legs apart with her feet. Her hand squeezed him again.

He wanted to scream and kick her off, but he couldn't, and god he felt it up there, but her hand was milking him too fast.

Her hand was on the trigger as she pressed it deep.

"Stop chasing me, Leon." She hissed. He shuddered at her voice, her velvet voice, angry, gorgeous. Her fingers tightened around him as he felt the orgasm, stretching his spine, thrashing, loathing her for drawing it out in spurts, hand drenched, gurney stained.

He heard the tick sound.

He woke up before he heard the gunshot.


	2. Necrophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2- Necrophilia
> 
> Defined as- sexual attraction to corpses.

ZetSway--------------------------

"Ashley, go hide."

"Okay," I whispered, ducking into an old, rusted metal box and closing the lid. It smelled awful. Considering it was sitting in a waste processing facility, I assumed it must have contained garbage at one point. But at least it wasn't dark.

A shaft of white light shone from the pockmarked side of the box, years of rust and neglect having corroded the metal. I quietly hunkered down and put my eye to the biggest hole I could find.

I watched Leon traverse the room carefully, checking every shadowed corner, kicking every crate in effort to determine if it was safe to continue or not.

But somewhere out there, I could hear it. The labored, raspy breathing of… something. A monster. Another one of Saddler's creations. One of those horrifying and damn near immortal things. Leon had mentioned they were called Regenerators.

And I knew Leon could hear it too. I quietly prayed he would get the jump on it, and not the other way around.

I tensed as he disappeared behind a particularly large crate that obscured my line of sight. Without the visual, it was almost as though he wasn't there. Every movement, every footfall he made was silent. Until he found it.

I watched him dash back into my line of view, gun pointed and eyes fixed on the monster that I could still hear, but not see. I could picture it though. Red slits for eyes, a wicked grin of pointed teeth, staggering on unstable legs toward its prey. Leon put his eye behind the scope of his semi-automatic and fired.

One shot, and the monster howled in pain. Another shot and it howled again. Third shot, and the only sound was the disgusting punch of a bullet ripping through the monster's supple grey flesh.

Leon pointed his gun at toward the ground. His attacker had lost its legs. He took carful aim, every muscle tensed and poised to deliver the killing blow.

He fired. And as I watched the monster come into view, its leg regenerating faster than should have been possible, he missed.

It should have been no problem. Aim again, fire again. But Saddler's monster was faster than him. I watched its arms, like Mr. Fantastic, stretch across the gap between it and Leon to pull him in. I watched, eyes wide, heart pounding, as it sunk its teeth into his neck. Watched him struggle and squirm, screaming, blood spewing from his carotid artery like from a garden hose and falling on the lid of my metal hideout like rain.

I tasted bile in my throat. My stomach turned. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Silent now. Dead. Limp in the monster's arms. My heart thundered in my chest.

Leon was dead.

Shock. I was going into shock. The man my father sent to rescue me from this nightmare was dead.

But the creature didn't stop. It chewed and clawed at Leon's corpse until his clothing was in rags and his limbs were barely attached. I fought to keep myself silent. Fought the bile rising in my throat. I didn't dare close my eyes.

I saw it all. Saw Leon, upside down now, mangled, bloody, held by the ankles by this… thing. I covered my mouth to stifle my gag as it penetrated him. Moved its hands to his hips and fucked him. Fucked the limp, dead, and torn body of the one man who could take me from here. And this time I couldn't stop my stomach from turning.

I squeezed my eyes shut and puked. It echoed throughout the waste plant like a gunshot.

I heard the monster stop. Drop Leon like a ragdoll.

The sound of its dragging feet echoed in my ears. I listened to it shuffle toward me and prayed to anyone that might be listening that I wouldn't suffer. That I would make it to heaven after it killed me.

 

 

Alias Blackclaw----------------------------

The target triggered something in it, something that betrayed the programming and made its way down into the depths of whatever mortal, mammalian tissues it possessed. It didn't stop to consider the morality of the act. His target triggered something in it that recalled gender identity. It was a 'He', and this dead body in his massive palm was a 'she'. This body was a 'she' in an outfit barely covering her skin.

He didn't recognize the smell, touch, or taste of her skin, only that she was a specimen of a female that was his target and also physically attractive despite the graying-color of her skin. A great gaping hole through her chest finished her off. Her clothing hung on her like dead moss.

Something told him she was beautiful; perhaps the ability to survive his pursuits up to this point persuaded him of it? He didn't have the capacity for the why, and really, it didn't matter. He carried her body through the rain-swept streets, one sutured hand enough to grip her by the thick of her thigh.

His orders had run out with her elimination. The last S.T.A.R..

Jill Valentine now this bloody, broken doll hanging from his fingers. Something about her impressed itself upon him.

He stabbed holes through the infected that shambled too close, smelled her fresh blood. He had no desire to consume like the lesser zombie. He had an urge though, an urge to keep the dead S.T.A.R., a formidable enemy.

In this state, she was no longer a target.

He dropped her on the hood of a car after the walk was too aimless, a tendril curling between his fingers.

He didn't consider the morality of exploring the cadaver in the middle of the streets, didn't consider the whys or why nots of sliding a thick whip of muscle between her legs, the tentacle cold, the body colder. Dead, but better this way.

She wouldn't run from him this time, shoot him with bullets, just be still. Her panties ripped, and she was lifeless inside, but still sticky. Strange he felt at all, her upper body curled in on itself and her thighs spread limp.

He inspected her insides with the tentacle, the insides of this S.T.A.R., and endorphins flooded his system.

It felt good so deep inside his adversary. He growled, recognizing it. "STARS…"

This was STARS, a flood of adrenaline shooting through his arm, a fat tentacle pulsating between a dead woman's legs. It felt almost as good as killing her. He growled and recoiled the appendage, scooped her up as mindless undead flocked towards them.

He kept her tight against his coat and walked onwards.


End file.
